


Life is a Flower (and love is the honey)

by Cactaceae28



Series: Fly Me to the Moon [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: But mostly sweet, Episode: s04e16 Bar Association, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Getting Together, Leeta and Julian are on the case though, Mostly Rom-centric, Multi, Rom Deserves Nice Things, Rom Needs a Hug, and a teensy-tiny bit of Angst, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cactaceae28/pseuds/Cactaceae28
Summary: “I don’t think Julian would like that,” Leeta said, without pausing to think about it, but… “We could ask him,” Rom had replied. And wasn’t that an interesting idea?(A self-indulgent, mostly Rom-centric, Julian/Leeta/Rom fic because I was re-watching ‘Bar Association’ and this happened. I have no regrets.)
Relationships: Rom/Leeta/Julian Bashir
Series: Fly Me to the Moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573999
Comments: 18
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will make references (but not in a very spoilery way) to the following Season 4 episodes: Bar Association, Accession, Hard Time, Shattered Mirror, The Muse and For the Cause.

The question, simple as it had been, keeps rattling in her head for hours. It’s brought back to the forefront of her mind when she slips into Julian’s quarters after seeing the subject of her thoughts again. “We could ask him,” Rom had said, and even if what she’s thinking now hadn’t been what he meant, she can’t help but wonder.

Leeta isn’t blind; she’s aware that Rom is attracted to her. She’s also too honest with herself to deny the thrill she has felt in return, especially since the usually sweet-tempered Ferengi has started fighting back against his domineering brother. She has seen a new side of him that, she realizes, she could very easily start loving.

Still, she can’t let herself fall into that trap. There’s Julian to consider. Julian, who is strong in a very different way, but who harbors many of the same insecurities Rom does. Leeta has spent months peeling through his layers and even now she knows there is a big part of himself that he keeps hidden away. To be honest, Leeta has come to enjoy that, their private game of giving and taking and knowing that with every wall he lets down around her, she’s one step closer to seeing something no one else has been allowed to see.

She doesn’t want to lose what she has. She doesn’t want to give up on what she could have, either. And though growing up she learnt early on that life isn’t fair, that it often comes down to making a choice and losing something anyway, she has also learnt that sometimes it’s easier to live with the consequences if she doesn’t resign herself to the choice without putting up a fight first.

“You’ve been very quiet,” Julian prods with a tentative smile, “are you worried about the strike?”

“I am, a bit,” she bites her lip and thinks. Can she speak up, tell him all about her selfish idea? Should she still try to work this out on her own? She looks at him, and he’s stopped smiling now, his brow furrowed with concern, for her.

“There’s something else, though,” she says, because if she trusts in what they have together, then she can’t allow herself to be held back by fear.

“When we decided to become more serious about this relationship,” she continues, choosing her words with care because she doesn’t want to be misunderstood, not in this, “we agreed to become exclusive. And I still want that,” she adds quickly. “I told you that fidelity was important to me and that’s still true. But I was wondering if we could consider adding someone else to, well, to us.”

“You mean a polyamorous relationship?” Julian asks, and the confusion lingers though the concern, at least, has quickly abated. She nods.

“I’ve never been in one, not long-term. Palis was too focused in her career to even talk about something like that and her father was rather traditional,” he looks at her with an apologetic grimace at the mention of his ex, but honestly, it usually bothers him more than it bothers her. He frowns a little and peers at her a bit more closely, “You already have someone in mind, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” the word still holds echoes of her hesitation, and he notices.

“… It’s not Morn, is it? Because I know I talk a lot, but I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise with him and I won’t be held accountable for my sanity if that’s the case.”

She can’t hold back the snort at the mental image. “It’s not Morn, your sanity is safe.” She bites her lip, and decides that at this point she might as well go for broke. “What do you think about Rom?”

“Rom?” he echoes with surprise, but soon his eyebrows furrow a little in thought. She lets him figure things out on his own, holding her breath all the while. “Rom is…” Julian’s mouth curves into a fond half-smile and Leeta’s heart skips a beat, both because of how much it suits his features and for all that it implies for the topic of this conversation. “Rom is extraordinary, really. I’ve never seen someone more dedicated. To his work, to his family. He really cares about Nog.”

“He does,” Leeta whispers, hating the flicker of hurt in Julian’s eyes that always appears when the subject of fathers comes up. “He treats everyone with respect; even when others don’t,” this time, it’s him that takes her hand in response to the bitterness in her tone.

“He’s compassionate, and good.”

“And he has a cute nose.”

It’s Julian’s turn to snort, but he’s clearly fighting back a mischievous smile. “Alas, we poor humans suffered a serious evolutionary flaw there,” he says, lightly poking her nasal ridges, and she giggles in return.

“So, do you think we should try?” she asks breathlessly. He closes his eyes for another beat, and there’s a glint in them she recognizes instantly when he looks back at her.

“I think we should.”

They smile at each other, and it’s somehow easier than it was before.

-

They both agree that, if they are going to go ahead with this, it will take some planning and a lot of time. Their main issue isn’t even going to be the strict heteronormativity imposed by Ferengi culture, not completely, though that is a serious consideration to keep in mind. Unlike most of his people, Rom is too kind to react with disgust or feel insulted by their interest. On the contrary, the real problem is that he might feel pressured into doing something he doesn’t really want, whether that is to please his brother or Leeta or anyone else. That is simply not acceptable.

So patience it is. They can do this.

-

“Me? Are you sure? Shouldn’t we both go?”

“ _Yes_ ¸I’m sure. It’ll be better that way, trust me.”

-

Rom is peering intently at the mess of circuits in front of him, thinking incongruously that he can finally understand Nog’s frustration at the Federation’s strange obsession with performance tests.  
The Chief has set him to find whatever is making the lights flicker intermittently in one of the passages to the upper pylons, because though the evidence of Rom’s jury-rigging at Quark’s has got him ‘a foot in the door’, as the man put it, he still has to show that he has what it takes to be a Starfleet –Bajoran, technically— engineer on DS9. Hence his banishment to resolving what is a tedious, uninspiring problem that is only a problem because even four years after the Cardassians strapped the place down to what was bolted to the floor, the station is still cobbled together from parts.

He hears footsteps and looks up just in time to see Doctor Bashir round the corner and approach him.

“Are you looking for the Chief?” He asks because it sounds like a logical enough assumption. O’Brien and Bashir have a way of orbiting one another whenever they have the time, whether it is for long holosuite excursions or just a quick exchange of friendly jabs, over and done with in less than five minutes. Rom doesn’t really understand it; Quark is certainly short with him, but his affection –which does, in fact, exist, even if it’s sometimes hard to see— is buried far deeper than theirs, and Rom has never really felt like he was in equal enough standing to mock him in return.

“Actually, I was looking for you Rom,” the man answers with an easy smile. “How’s the ear doing? All better?”

“I… yes, Doctor. No problems…. I didn’t miss an appointment, did I?”

“No, no, don’t worry. I mean, I do want to see you immediately if you experience further pain or have any trouble hearing at all. This time I know the Captain and the Chief will allow you the sick leave. And if not, I can countermand them anyway, so don’t let it get so bad again.”

“… Okay?”

The man holds his gaze for a beat longer, but then the professional veneer seems to slide off of him and suddenly he’s back to smiling abashedly.

“I’m sorry, I truly didn’t come here to lecture you like that; it’s a bad habit and I’m really bungling this up.” Does he look nervous? Surely Rom is imagining it. “I was actually wondering if you are free this next Sunday?”

“What? Why?”

“Well, now that traffic at the bar has settled down again, I managed to reserve holosuite Three for a few hours this Sunday. Leeta and I were planning to do some tourism, and we thought you might want to join us. We’re going to Earth.”

“I… I don’t know… Wouldn’t I just be in the way?” 

“Of course not! Besides, Leeta thought we could use the trip to have a sort of celebration. For the success of the DS9’s Restaurateurs Union and your change in careers.”

“In a holo-program?” If it’s Leeta’s idea, he guesses he can go along with it. It still sounds very strange, though. He doesn’t really know what to make of it.

The doctor sees his misgivings and smiles mischievously, “Imagine Quark’s face if he knew what we were celebrating?”

Well… if he puts it that way.

-

“You weren’t that hopeless when you were asking _me_ on a date!”

“It’s not a date yet, is it? Besides, of course I was. His nose _is_ cuter than yours.”

“You are _terrible_ and I don’t know why I’m dating _you_.”

-

He holds onto the image of Quark’s imagined outrage when he goes into the bar two days later. His brother has got the stupid idea that Rom is going to try to steal Leeta away from her boyfriend and fail spectacularly. But he’s not even considering it; he wants Leeta to be happy and anyway, he knows Quark’s right. Why would she choose him over the taller, younger human? Yet Quark’s cackle is still reverberating in his skull by the time he mounts the stairs by the holosuites, and the only reason he hasn’t turned back around is that Leeta has already –unfortunately— caught sight of him and is waving in broad gestures that will make it clear he’s running away if he turns and leaves.

He mumbles a greeting that he’s not sure they’ll be able to hear over the noise of the bar, wondering if there’s any excuse he can give to bow out and almost wishing for an emergency to call any of them away, but none come to mind, especially when Leeta starts talking, her voice high and excited.

“Julian was going to show us a human thing, they’re called, amusement parks, was it?” Leeta is fairly bouncing on her heels, one hand on Bashir’s hand, the other tugging at Rom’s wrist. Whatever this is, she really seems to be looking forward to it: her eyes are glittering and beautiful. Rom can’t help the pang of jealousy, but resolutely tries to push it away; no sense in making himself even more miserable than he already feels.

The doctor appears to be just as excited, at least. “I don’t know if I’d call them a human thing, is not like Risa is the next Memory Alpha. But yes, they are places people on Earth go to have fun with friends. Actually, Miles and I added the basics of the USA’s main parks in Nog’s guidebook before he left.”

“You gave Nog directions to _Earth Risa_?” he squeaks, violently thrown out of his funk and torn between horror and outrage at his only son being led into some sort of weird human jamaharon place.

Bashir is frowning now, and Leeta let’s go of his hand long enough to hit the human on the shoulder. Rom is greeted with the disorienting sight of the man blushing furiously as he processes the question. “No, no! Amusements parks are nothing like Risa! People take their children there,” Bashir seems to catch Rom’s incredulous glare, because he stammers through a bewildering explanation that, while innocent enough, only makes things even more confusing. “Look, I’ll just show you two, okay?”

“Okay,” Leeta agrees easily.

“… Okay,” Rom says, because if Nog’s going to be subjected to this place, he wants to see it first.

His first thought is that the place the holosuite has created is enormous. It’s sometimes hard to adjust, after having spent a long period of time in the station, to open skies again. There are a few clouds on the sky, but the recreated day is warm and sunny. The three of them are standing in an open square, though there are plenty of people milling about, and he can see buildings in the distance, including a big, rectangular one behind them that he can recognize: a train station. 

“Just so you know,” for some reason, the doctor’s strange accent becomes more pronounced as he speaks, and he’s opening his arms like a showman, “this is not just any amusement park. Welcome to _Wurstelprater_ : The most ancient park in the world, in spite of the 20th and 21st centuries’ best efforts.”

Leeta looks around in appreciation, looking at a massive white wheel with red boxes that is spinning slowly in the distance. They begin walking towards it following a street surrounded by trees, and the program adjusts so they aren’t alone, but neither are they crowded by strangers. There’s a faint breeze in the air as they approach the park. Around them, the trees give way to low, one-story buildings in bizarre shapes and bright colors, and it takes Rom a moment to realize that they aren’t actually houses, but stores and food stalls.

At Leeta’s insistence, they go the big wheel first. There’s a queue forming near a fence at its base, but Bashir goes to speak in quiet tones with a portly man at the base of the wheel –a big sign proclaims it’s _Wiener Riesenrad, von 1897_ —, and Rom watches as he hands over a bunch of brightly colored papers. Money, he realizes with a start. The man steps aside and waves the three of them in ahead of the queue, and into a compartment of their own. Bashir grins and hands the bulk of the papers to Rom, keeping a few for Leeta and for himself.

“While Earth society still used money, people had to pay to get into the attractions. I thought it would be fun to try,” he says with some relish. Rom doesn’t have the heart to tell him that holographic money in a holographic simulation doesn’t really hold much appeal to a Ferengi: it’s not as if it’s real profit. It’s still a nice gesture anyway, so Rom decides to appreciate the thought behind it instead.

The door closes behind them and the wheel takes them upwards. As they leave the ground they can see the sprawling city below; there’s a river winding around small, solid-looking buildings. As they climb higher he sees that several of them stand out on their own; big, stout buildings surrounded by greenery, that are nothing like the Tower of Commerce or the big skyscrapers he saw when they took Nog to the Academy, but even from this distance he thinks there must be an interesting story attached to each of them.

“This doesn’t look much like the city Kassidy and Jadzia showed me when we went to a ‘ball game’.” Leeta says when they have nearly reached the top of the wheel. It doesn’t look much like San Francisco either, at least what Rom has seen of it.

“That’s because we are in what was known before First Contact as the Old Continent. Vienna, to be precise. If we have time, we can visit the city centre later, it’s beautiful I promise.”

“Is this where you lived before enlisting, Doctor?” Rom ventures upon hearing the proprietary note in Bashir’s voice, no so much because he’s interested in the answer as to remind the other two that he’s around.

What follows is a long, somewhat rambling explanation filled with too many details, but he gets the gist of it: No, he grew up in a place called Eengland, but that’s still a lot closer, relatively speaking, than California. Also, California was originally separated from the Old World (which is actually called Yurop, after a goddess who was a cow) and anyway the people there rebelled over soaked tea leaves, so there’s a bigger rivalry with them than with Vienna, except in matters dealing with a union (the tea leaves’ farmers union, perhaps?). No, it wasn’t actually a workers’ union like the one Rom led and that’s where he becomes completely lost.

Rom nods and pretends he’s following the conversation anyway. The sun shines through the crystal panes and warms the small compartment, but it’s not strong enough to feel scorching and the view outside really is unlike anything Rom sees in a daily basis, so he’s actually rather comfortable in this moment. Leeta meets his eyes in between nodding and making a non-descript sound of assent and gives him a complicit wink when she notices he’s also been drifting off.

The flow of words stops when they touch the ground and leave the compartment shortly after, and they prepare to explore the rest of the place. To Rom’s slight surprise, the doctor seems more than willing to take a step back and let them explore as they wish, restraining himself to a suggestion here and there or a short explanation when they are puzzled over a particular attraction. He would be worried, but it is obvious that the man is enjoying himself as much as they are, so he decides that there isn’t a need to wonder if they’re putting him out.

Besides, contrary to his expectations, Rom actually is enjoying himself. It’s not really anything about this place, nice as it is, or the weather, though that helps. It’s the company, he realizes. These two people chose to share this with him and they are including him in everything, like there was never a question about it, like there’s no reason it should be any other way.

It hurts, a bit, when he thinks of Leeta as someone else’s girlfriend. But holding onto that hurt becomes a little more difficult with each passing moment he spends here, trying new things and eating strange foods. He can only think that he’s with… friends. Is that the right word? Whatever it is, as long as he lets himself enjoy this, it’s just something easy and uncomplicated; he doesn’t have to think of his worries and the troubles of the outside world and it feels good.

They leave a few hours later, when the sun is beginning to set. Around them, the majority of the simulated crowd is also moving towards the direction of the exit, most of them smiling, though there are some lingering in between the stalls.

He’s exhausted and there’s a building pressure in his head that means it’s probably a good time to leave before it becomes a raging headache. Still, there’s a large part of him that wishes it didn’t have to end. 

“Maybe some other time, we can come back at night and see the fireworks,” Bashir says softly, almost as if he’s read his mind.

“I’d like that,” Leeta says just as softly.

And truthfully, so does he.

-

He comes across the doctor again two days later. Much to the amusement of the engineering crew he’s trying to coax the Chief out of a bulkhead because “Miles, keeping hydrated during a full shift in the Jefferies tubes is _not optional_ , you’re going to you-know-what again” when the human notices him. Bashir waves, points at where the Chief’s legs are –and where the rest of him is clearly doing his level best to ignore the lecture— and exaggeratedly rolls his eyes.

Rom looks back, but there’s no one behind him. He hesitantly waves back, and quickly leaves to find Muniz, whom he’s supposed to be shadowing for the day.


	2. Chapter 2

“There’s _no such thing_ as an employee’s discount, and even if there was, you certainly can’t use it to indulge my idiot brother’s obsession with poisoning himself using hew-mon beverages! This is coming out of your pay-check, Leeta!”

-

“… and then T’Lar,” Nog cuts himself off with a sound of absent-minded realization, “oh, she’s in my Elementary Temporal Mechanics class, I don’t know if I’ve told you that. Well, she said that ‘logically Nog’s –my— cultural background made me more adept at accurate algebraic reasoning’ and snubbed him just like that, it was great. Dad, are you listening?”

Chagrinned, he focuses his attention back on the screen. Real-time communication is not cheap, especially over these distances, and even with Sisko’s quiet negotiations with the Academy board, father and son can rarely afford more than half an hour every other week.

“Sorry, Nog.”

“Is something wrong?” the teen persists, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t think so?” He purses his lips, hums, and, for lack of a better topic, blurts out: “Have you heard of Deesnay-land?”

-

“Ah, good evening, Rom” the doctor says incongruously, since he has nearly bowled Rom over on his way out of Quark’s. “I’m sorry about that. Can I buy you a drink?” he looks back at the bar and grimaces. “At the Klingon restaurant, maybe?”

Rom hides his surprise, more at the proposed change in location than the invitation. However, this kind of behavior is something he has seen before actually: it means Quark has been too pushy about something and driven off a potential customer.

He thinks about declining but, well. He doesn’t really want to face Quark if his brother has something to complain about and he isn’t really in the mood to be alone if there’s an alternative; and the truth is that he likes Bashir. He thinks that after the holo-program the other day, they may have become friends or something very close to that at least. The Klingon restaurant’s alcohol isn’t too bad either, and the owner insists on adding a plate of gagh when they don’t order anything else. Rom isn’t a big fan of the worms, but he’s hungry enough to nibble nonetheless.

“What did Quark do?” He asks. Bashir looks at him and half-shrugs.

“It wasn’t Quark _exactly_. Or, well… I had to cancel a holo-suite booking for… about five minutes ago, I guess. You know how he can get when that happens.”

He knows. His brother would have spent at least half an hour hovering around the man to remind him of his non-refund policy. For all that Quark believes in Rule of Acquisition nº57, he often lets Rules 1, 10 and 21 take front and center in his dealings with customers when it comes to parting with any piece of latinum. Though he wonders what the doctor is doing here with him if he has something else to do. When he asks, however, he receives another diffident shrug.

“It’s just, you know Keiko is back, right? I was hoping to go with Miles, but he had to get home.”

“You miss him.”

The human nods miserably. Rom wonders what it must be like, to have that kind of bond with another person. He’s finding that fitting in with the rest of the Engineering crew is harder than he expected; at least he could understand the other Ferengi waiters and complaining about Quark was always a safe topic with the dabo girls.

“Rom?” Bashir says after a pause, and when he looks up the man is smiling ruefully, “I know I’m not very good company today. But thank you for being here anyway.”

Rom doesn’t know how to react to that, so he doesn’t say anything. The doctor looks back at his glass, seemingly in no hurry to leave and Rom is happy enough to oblige. They watch the throngs of people milling about, mostly Bajoran. The doctor seems content with watching them in silence, and Rom feels comfortable enough to follow his lead. After a few minutes however, he remembers that there’s something that has been bothering all day and the man in front of him likely has the answer.

“Where’s Leeta?”

Bashir turns the glass slowly between his long fingers. “She’s gone to Bajor for a couple of days. She wanted to talk to her grandfather about her family’s Dj’arra, see what her options are now that Akorem is advocating bringing them back.”

“…Do you not approve?” He can’t find any explanation for the somber downturn of his expression otherwise.

“It’s not that simple. I mean… it’s not really my place to approve or disapprove, is it? I’m not Bajoran. But all of what’s been happening… it doesn’t feel right. Tensions are rising. People are miserable. It’s hard to find the silver lining in this whole mess.”

“Silver lining?”

“It’s an old saying on Earth. It means, being able to find the good in a bad situation.”

“Ah. You mean like Rule of Acquisition nº162: ‘Even in the worst of times, someone turns a profit’.” He nods decisively at having drawn the right connection, but the human seems a bit nonplussed. He has seen that reaction from Federation members before though; it’s like they can’t even understand what profit is sometimes.

He turns back to his beer and another thought springs to mind.

“Do you think Leeta is going to leave forever?”

“I hope not.”

They spend the rest of the evening drinking together in silence after that, because what else is there to add?

-

A few days later, Rom knocks on Leeta’s door on impulse as he’s coming back from breakfast and heading to his quarters.

“I… You… are here. That’s good.” He closes his eyes, but the eloquence he wishes for doesn’t come. Frustrated and not wanting to see her pity, he turns and leaves with jerky movements. He’s several feet away when he hears her call her name, and he reluctantly turns around.

Leeta grins at him. “I’m also happy I’m still here.”

He can’t help the tiny skip in his step after that.

-

“Julian, stop pestering my engineers. No, I don’t want to hear it. Go find Dax if you’re that bored.”

-

“You, my young friend, are _completely_ transparent. I do despair sometimes,” Garak says over their usual lunch date in his usual affected manner. “I would have expected you to have learned something of the noble art of obfuscation over the course of our acquaintance, but I fear my teachings have been utterly wasted.”

Julian looks back at him, blinking in confusion. It’s not that the sentiment is a rare one to hear –Garak delights in pointing out whenever his ‘naïve Federation ideals’ are showing— but usually he can at least guess where the complaint is coming from.

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

The tailor ignores the easy opening of the anthropocentric reference, which tells Julian the man is already anticipating having a good deal of fun at his expense.

“Oh, there’s no need to play coy with me, my dear doctor,” and yes, there’s the spark of humour in his eyes. Garak is enjoying himself immensely. “It’s just that I couldn’t help but notice how often your path has crossed that of a certain engineer ever since his change in careers. Quite an interesting coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, you’ve said it. Rom’s schedule is a lot different now that he doesn’t have to be at the bar all day,” he shrugs, affecting nonchalance. There’s no need to encourage the man when he’s in this kind of mood.

“Of course, a perfectly reasonable explanation,” Garak nods along. He even makes it sound like that’s the end of it. Julian doesn’t believe him for a second. Especially when the Cardassian (for all appearances) turns his attention back to his plate just to (he swears) watch him squirm for a bit.

He’s not squirming. He’s going to outlast that smug man. This time, the former spy’s not getting the better of him. He’s admitting to _nothing_ , see how plain-and-simple Garak likes that.

“And the lovely Leeta,” Garak exclaims, utterly scattering his train of thought. “She often crosses paths with him in the Promenade as well, though she’s still working at the bar.”

“So? They’re friends. And before you point it out, yes, Rom and I are friends too.” Possibly-maybe on the way to something more if Leeta’s intuition is right. Also he may be starting to get really invested in the idea even though she had been the one to bring it up, but that’s not something he plans to consider in detail, and absolutely not here. He’s not giving Garak the satisfaction.

Though he guesses he can admit, only to himself, that the whole thing feels a little strange. When Julian has wanted to pursue a romantic relationship with someone in the past, he has simply tumbled headfirst into it without thinking about the consequences and only on occasion has managed to salvage a friendship out of it if (when) it ultimately doesn’t pan out. He’ll always be grateful that Felix and Melora were able to see enough of worth in him to want to keep in touch, and he thinks that the friendship he has with Jadzia is stronger than what could have been anyway.

Leeta and he have never tried to define what they are to each other, neither before nor now. Still, this one will be important; he can feel it in his bones. He’s (They are) in the cusp of _something_ that he can’t define but that is starting to remind him of stolen waltzes and walks along the Seine. It makes him think that maybe this is the time to try a new approach and see if it gets him someplace better.

“I heard the three of you were seen having lunch together the other day.”

“ _We’re_ having lunch now. Or at least _I_ am.” He wishes it sounded forceful, but it’s likely a bit too close to defensiveness. Garak has also picked up on it because he’s smiling with all his teeth now, like a shark that has scented blood.

-

“Garak is a _menace_.”

Leeta pats him in the back and commiserates with him. It would be more convincing if she wasn’t laughing.

-

“There, fixed. The lights shouldn’t go out anymore.”

“Thank you Rom, you are a treasure,” Etheria says distractedly from where she’s adding the last touches to her make-up in the small dressing room at the back of Quark’s. It used to be filled with boxes and supplies, but as part of the negotiations after the strike, it has been cleared to allow for a couple of mirrors and a rack for the more elaborate costumes that the dabo girls used to have to store in their quarters. Still, Quark won’t give it priority over any other area of the bar, so if something malfunctions they are usually left to their own devices because the engineers never get around to fixing it.

Etheria is not the woman’s real name, but it is the name she uses whenever she’s on the clock, and so it’s the one Rom knows. She’s aloof, cynical and detached, though again he doesn’t know how much of that is her persona rather than the real her. She’s always seemed to like him well enough, though.

“Leeta ought to be here soon, if you want to wait,” she glances at the chronometer and pats her black wig into place. “She’s almost running late, in fact. Probably lost track of time with that boyfriend of hers.”

Rom nods after he finishes tightening the bolts of the panel he had detached earlier, though he’s not quite sure what to make of Etheria’s words. Are they a challenge or just stating a fact? In any case, it’s not like they have any basis in reality; the medical personnel are still pulling double shifts after a particularly vicious battle with the Klingons resulted in several wounded flooding the Infirmary and neither Leeta nor Bashir would condone shrinking duty in those circumstances.

When he doesn’t say anything, Etheria seems to take his silence as a cue to continue talking. She hums, reaching for an elaborate golden hairpin, “It’s almost a pity he’s a doctor. He would make a decent dabo boy, with his looks.”

Rom is not sure if she’s joking but he’s still vaguely scandalized. It’s not so much at the thought of a dabo boy –Quark hired a couple after the Occupation ended, and they draw in enough profit that his brother can’t do anything more than grumble— but there’s something deeply unsettling about the image of a Starfleeter being in charge of the dabo wheel on a busy night. He wonders why Etheria would even bring it up.

“What do you think?” she says and glances at his image in the mirror while she slips on several golden bracelets on her wrists.

“I… I don’t know,” he stammers, and averts his eyes.

Well… he supposes Bashir is handsome, objectively speaking. He’s tall and lithe, even for a human, and his movements hold the kind of effortless-looking grace that his brother likes to promote among his workers.

Now that he stops to think about it, there are also other things that come to mind, like the way his eyes light up just like Leeta’s do when he’s excited, or how quick he is to have a smile for his friends or his patients. Thinking of the Infirmary, there’s also the memory of long fingers tracing his ears, a touch meant to be professional, but now he finds himself imagining it as the start of something more…

Rom squeaks in mortification, but if Etheria has noticed the direction of his thoughts, she says nothing. She rises in one fluid action, blows a kiss in his direction and leaves. The mere thought of running into Leeta after what has happened (even if it’s just in his mind) has Rom following her out as quickly as he dares.

-

“Etheria wouldn’t stop smirking at me! For five hours!”

“Maybe she’s no longer mad about those Pacleds?”

-

Rom is moving through the Promenade with no real destination in mind, struggling to clear the cobwebs of sleep that still seem heavier than ever because of the cycle imposed by his new hectic schedule when he notices one of the people that have increasingly been on his mind lately straight ahead. He watches from afar as Garak lays a hand on the doctor’s arm, saying something he could hear if he tried, but there is something in their expressions that makes him reconsider. It isn’t very hard to guess what it is about anyway. All of Engineering has been briefed on the basics of the Chief’s disastrous trip to the Argathi system and half the Promenade must have seen him storm off the Infirmary a few minutes ago, muttering angrily to himself.

He could turn around and go about his business. He would have if they had continued talking, but the men in question are wrapping up their discussion and the Cardassian turns to leave, while the doctor returns inside. Without his consent, Rom’s feet carry him forward and into the medical facilities.

Bashir is standing in front of the screen of his terminal, speaking in a low, mostly even cadence with Mrs. O’Brien. It’s a tone that Rom hasn’t heard from him before, halfway between how he talks as a friend and how he talks as CMO, and he wonders if Mrs. O’Brien’s small ears are capable of picking up the hidden note of vulnerability than threads his words. Bashir had been looking intently at the screen, but he turns almost before the doors have had time to close.

“Rom,” he breathes the word, and again there’s that intonation Rom has heard in his voice lately that he can’t quite identify. This time he isn’t given a chance to mull about it longer, because professionalism quickly masks whatever it may be as the doctor continues, “What can I do for you?”

“I’ll contact you as soon as he comes back, Julian,” Mrs. O’Brien says and a quick swap of pleasantries later she disconnects the call.

“I… is something wrong with the Chief?” he almost wants to smack himself as soon as he closes his mouth. Of course there’s something wrong, it’s obvious that something’s wrong, but somehow his words always tangle up when he’s trying to communicate something important and he ends up saying things that make him sound dumb.

Bashir sighs but doesn’t call him out on it as others would have. Instead, he pinches the bridge of his nose in a gesture that has always looked awkward to Rom, but seems to help most humans when they’re feeling overwhelmed. “I put him on medical leave a few hours ago. He was… displeased.”

He falls heavily on the closest chair and presses his hands together in his lap, giving up on any pretense of formality. Rom thinks he understands now.

“Was he very harsh with you, Doctor?”

The human looks at him with a faintly bewildered expression, but then his shoulders sag and he makes a vague hum of assent. “I know I shouldn’t let it affect me,” he sighs again, dropping his gaze back to his interlaced fingers. “Those weren’t really Miles’ words, it’s just his frustration talking, I know that. It isn’t even close to the first time a patient has lashed out at me while under stress. Or the first friend.”

There is a hidden layer of meaning in the addendum, and Rom can recognize the echoes of a remembered instance of the past, though he lacks the proper knowledge of the circumstances to fully understand the reference. It doesn’t really matter.

“I used to skim the profits from Quark’s safe when he was being…” he abruptly shuts up, horrified at the unwitting confession of theft, but the officer in front of him only snorts.

“Insufferable?” Julian says, looking amused for the first time since word from the Chief’s plight came in.

“Something like that” He mumbles, feeling slightly vindicated nonetheless. The other man begins to smile, but his expression falls swiftly again.

“I just… I don’t know how to help him, Rom. I don’t even know if I can help him. That kind of trauma… Frankly, it terrifies me.”

For a second Rom can’t even blink, such is the raw honesty behind that admission. The doctor has always looked so sure of himself when it comes to medical problems. Even when Quark had nearly been murdered by that Bajoran assassin shortly after the discovery of the wormhole, Bashir hadn’t faltered once in Rom’s sight.

It’s a rather unfamiliar situation, to find himself in the position of having to reassure someone who’s usually expected to take that role.

“The Chief is strong,” he starts, making an effort to reach out. “We will get him through this.”

His words get him another smile. It’s small, hesitant and tired but it tells him that he has said exactly the right thing. It’s a rather empowering feeling.

“We will,” the words come, lilting and filled with wonder. Julian stands up and briefly grips Rom’s arm, with a renewed spark of energy in his movements. “I should get back to locating him. I’ll talk to him again, and whatever happens we can support him after, all of us.” 

“I’ll keep my ears open then. I’ll comm you if I see him.”

“Thank you.” The words are common enough, but the tone in which they are said conveys something warmer, something that leaves Rom floundering for a second, before he hastens away.


	3. Chapter 3

“You know, you can call him Julian. He’d like that.” Leeta says once while they are sharing a turbolift to the Promenade, completely out of the blue. He stammers his way through a complaint because that would be weird, wouldn’t it? 

“Why would it be?” She says it kindly enough, but his lobes are screaming that this isn’t the innocent question it sounds like. He would worry that she does think it’s weird and is being sarcastic, except that this is Leeta, and she has never been one to hide behind double-meanings.

Besides, all his friends call him that. Even the Captain does sometimes. So surely it’s okay?

-

“I… I… I think Julian is right?”

“Ha! See Chief, Rom agrees with me.”

“Stop corrupting my men, Julian. Besides, everybody knows Richard Woodville was a bloody opportunist!”

-

Rom gratefully breaks from work just in time for their usual lunch appointment, and when he reaches the table Leeta is already waiting there. Julian joins them shortly after they’ve ordered and does a good job of faking he’s fine and engaged in the conversation, but Rom knows that something has had the people in Ops in a partial lock-out and up in arms for over a day, something involving Captain Sisko and his son.

Whatever it is, it's clear that none of the senior staff have left the private debriefing held after their return unaffected. Commander Worf's opera is blasting so loudly on the Defiant it's a wonder the docking clamps haven’t shaken themselves loose yet. Word among the lower ranks is to avoid Major Kira, who has been seen stomping towards Odo’s quarters in a mood, and the Chief disappeared half-way through his shift, saying he had an important call to make.

“Nothing is _wrong_ , really,” the human answers when questioned, “It’s just that what the Captain and Jake told us… well, it put some things into perspective.”

He draws circles in his Plomeek soup with his spoon, but doesn’t start eating again. He looks up, first at Leeta and then at Rom. “I’m just glad we can be here, like this.”

Leeta puts her hand in his, and Julian lets out a shaky breath. Rom feels a bit uncomfortable for reasons he’s not sure he wants to name. A small voice at the back of his mind pipes up to remind him that it has been a while since he could simply call it jealousy.

-

“I’m almost jealous of you, dear” a voice says from right behind and Rom nearly jumps out of his skin. When he turns, there’s a woman in expensive clothing looking down at him. Her eyes are pure black on white. Oh. Now he remembers who she is.

“H…Hello, ma’am. Ambassador.”

“Pssh, call me L’wxana, all the best people do,” she looks at him intently, and though he knows Betazoids can’t read a Ferengi’s mind, he still gets the feeling that he’s being put under a microscope. She seems to be waiting for him to say something.

“Congratulations on your wedding?”

“Oh, thank you, you’re very kind. Of course, the relationship between Odo and me is rather out of the ordinary,” she waves her hand and goes back to staring. Rom itches backwards and tries not to make it obvious. After a full minute of this bewildering standoff, she sighs in disappointment and breaks eye contact to smooth out her skirt.

“Dear, you really ought to be more assertive. Just because they are willing to wait, doesn’t mean they’ll wait forever.”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t play the fool with me, I know you aren’t one. Odo has told me all about you and your brother.” Rom wants to protest, but the Ambassador has apparently run out of patience and continues talking right over him, “Well, I really ought to see if my things are packed, my transport leaves in an hour. I hope we’ll get to see each other again, in better circumstances.”

He really, really hopes they don’t.

-

“She _hugged_ me. Don’t laugh, Jadzia. She said she wished her daughter was more like me.”

“Well Leeta, she sounds like a woman of taste.”

“Next time, I’m hiding in an airlock.”

-

“Miss Dax?” he says, fiddling with the coupler in his hands. The Trill snorts a laugh.  
  
“Since when am I ‘miss’?” she teases him, but nonetheless she abandons her experiment and turns to give him her full attention. Rom has always admired that about her, her willingness to help others with their problems without passing judgment.

“I wanted to ask you… I… wanted… to ask you… have you… Dax I mean. Has Dax ever… felt, you know,” he swallowed, trying to keep his voice level and not descend into mumbling.

“Rom? What’s wrong?”

“Have you ever, have you ever been… maybe… interested in. Someone who was,” he gestures helplessly up and down her figure, “you know, a woman. Or, when you were a man. You know.”

Jadzia considers him for a long moment, enough that he can feel the palm of his hands begin to sweat under the scrutiny. Whatever she finds in his eyes seems to satisfy her, because when she replies her tone is serious enough that he can be sure there isn’t any mocking hidden beneath her words.

“Trill don’t typically consider gender as most other races do,” she crosses her arms as she speaks. “The symbionts aren’t binary of course. The hosts… Tobin did have some trouble with his identity at first: he was the second Dax, you know, and Lela had one of the strongest personalities among Trills, even before joining, which didn't help”

Her eyes lose focus for a moment as if she’s trying to visualize the best way to go about fixing a fused transmitter. Rom stays silent while she thinks, and finally she returns her attention to him. “Attraction is a bit different. Torias married quickly and he never was very taken with a particular man. Emony, on the other hand, cared more about her lovers’ hands than almost anything else about them and didn’t want to settle for the longest time.”

“And… Jadzia?”

She lifts an eyebrow, but before he can retract his question, she hums in consideration. “I’ve been attracted to both men and women before,” she states plainly. “Perhaps I tend a bit more often towards the former, but I’ve never really paused to consider my sexuality in too much detail either. Does that help?”

“Maybe? I just… I know some people are different, I saw it in the bar often enough. I just don’t know if I…”

“If you are different?” She sounds a bit chiding now, though he can’t tell the reason why. He answers anyway.

“I think… I might be? I don’t know. But,” he hastens to add, “I also love Lee… women.”

Jadzia smiles knowingly, getting up to pat him in the shoulder. Rom is glad Ferengi aren’t prone to blushing, or else this would be twice as mortifying.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of anything you think or feel. But Rom… maybe you shouldn’t try so hard to find a neat label for whatever it is you’re feeling now. It isn’t an engineering problem or a lab experiment. You don’t need to fill a detailed report. What matters is that you feel good about yourself and your decisions, not anything –or anyone— else.”

Rom nods and thanks her, and nonetheless thinks that maybe he’s coming closer to having the correct answer.

-

“Jadzia, Leeta and I need a fourth player for a holo-mystery I just received. Do you want to join us?”

To that question however, he really should have answered an emphatic _no_.

Or, at least, he should have stopped Dax from swapping all the characters around.

-

“A slip of latinum for your thoughts?” a voice says behind him, and before he can turn around Leeta is slipping a snail juice in front of him. Rom sighs, a long gust of air that does nothing to lift the fog of depression of the last few hours.

He had liked Eddington, still does, really. He has often felt that the human understood him more than most Federation officers do. Eddington had plenty of cutting remarks ready to fly at any moment for anyone whom he considered foolish, but below that there had always been a feeling of camaraderie when they were slated to work together.

Ever since Rom resigned from his work tending bar, he has even felt a new measure of respect coming from the officer, but it seems somehow tainted now that he has to wonder how much of it came from Rom’s own resolve and how much from the Maquis’ appreciation of buckling authority as an abstract concept.

“I don’t know if I can talk about it,” he says instead. He doesn’t think Eddington’s defection is classified, but with all the senior officers’ still on edge he doesn’t want to come even close to toeing the line.

Leeta purses her lips and resolutely sits down in front of him. Rom can’t help but cringe, glancing quickly at the bar where his brother seems to be doing his best to engage a couple of Bolians into sampling some of his most exotic –and expensive— liquors.

“I’m taking my break right now,” she answers the unspoken question, and there’s a challenge in her voice. She looks at the people around them, but when no one pays them any particular attention, she returns her gaze to his. “Is this about whatever has had the Starfleet officers running around all day?”

“More or less,” he allows at last, picking the glass up and letting its comforting chill seep into his hands.

“Are you okay?”

He shrugs, “I’m fine. I’m just… disappointed. I guess.”

“Should I have brought a glass of synthale instead? Whiskey?” She asks with a touch of playfulness. It makes him feel better almost instantly, though outwardly he can’t help but grimace at the memory of the foul drink that is the Chief’s drink of choice.

“No, please.”

Leeta giggles in response, and he gulps from his drink as much to hide his floundering as to erase the memory of the Earth concoction.

For the next ten minutes, they simply let the noise of the bar wash over them and enjoy their pocket of peace among the growing throngs of people. When they notice Quark looking around the lower level with the beginnings of indignant confusion, she winks at him and slips away. He leaves the bar shortly after with a much lighter step.

-

Sisko_J: **Ftlt, im not spying on your dad for u**

Nog001@stfl.cal: **Comr on jake i wld do it for u if ur dad was acting wierd**

Sisko_J: **Would not. your scared of him**

Sisko_J: **You’re***

Nog001@stfl.cal: **Am not!!!**

-

“Rommie, what’s going on with you lately?” his moogie asks over the comm after she has finished talking about her latest, mostly illegal overtures on Ferenginar. It’s such a common topic that both mother and son encrypt their conversations heavily, even if they only have time to talk about the (dismal) weather.

“I guess I’ve been… thinking,” he allows. In fact, there’s a part of him that would like to lay the whole confusing tangle at her feet and have her solve it for him but he knows that what he’s been considering doing, he must do on his own. Still it’s harder than he expected, letting go of that nebulous fear.

“And is whatever you’re thinking about so bad?” She says it in a joking manner, but he knows he has her whole attention now.

“It’s not something a proper Ferengi should be considering” He hedges at last.

His moogie scoffs and rolls her eyes, before giving him that fond look that has precluded many an explanation about the subtle implications of a Rule of Acquisition he hadn’t managed to grasp.

“You’re starting to sound like your brother. Is there anything duller than following proper Ferengi tradition?”

He makes an indistinct shake with his head, which may be agreement or not. It shouldn’t be this hard, after all. It isn’t as if he’s ever been a good Ferengi. No one in this family is, except Quark, and his brother has certainly never let him forget it. Yet Nog isn’t following tradition, either, and in his latest comms and letters he sounds so certain of himself. Happier, too. He isn’t a child anymore.

As for Rom… it had taken an embarrassing amount of courage just to go to the Chief and ask for the job he has now, and it has already changed his life for the better, even if he’s only just graduated to solo work, in the night shift at that. Rom knows he isn’t as brave as his moogie or his son, but the thing is, he wants to be. Even all the way in Ferenginar she seems to sense this, because her face softens with clear affection.

“You’re my son. You know I, at least, will always be proud of you.”

-

He cuts the call with something like confidence bursting from deep inside his spirit, and he goes to bed dreaming of half-imagined possibilities that he can barely grasp in the waking world. He has an idea of what he has to do and how to do it, but his plans fly out of his mind almost before he has left the habitat ring, and he’s left with the same mess of doubts and crippling fear that have been plaguing him lately, and his knees fail him at the mere thought of moving forward. Yet he’s determined to see this, whatever _this_ is, through. 

He quotes Rule of Acquisition nº263 in his mind: 'Never allow doubt to tarnish your lust for latinum'. This is close enough to apply, right?

In the end, he manages to reach a good compromise. In two days he’s scheduled to have a night off-duty, so waiting until that day strikes him as a very sensible thing to do. He can work on what he’s going to say until then.

On that day, though he can’t quite manage to issue an invitation face to face, he convinces Morn to slip Leeta a note while she’s serving tables during the midday meal rush and hands an identical note to nurse Jabara, having extracted a solemn promise from both to refrain from snooping.

For the rest of the day he tinkers with odds and ends in one of the station’s workshops, though his fellow engineers quickly become fed up with his antics and banish him from any delicate work because he can’t keep his hands from shaking. However, all of his brainpower is tied up on staving off a panic attack, and he doesn’t pay their ribbing any mind.

-

In the evening, the three of them converge in his quarters as soon as their respective shifts have ended, but he feels even less ready for this now than he did a few hours ago. Julian arrives first, smelling faintly of disinfectant, and there is something almost unsettling in the way his eyes shine when they meet Rom’s, but when the human turns away he suddenly feels a bit bereft. Leeta is barely a minute behind and can’t seem to stay in one place; likely she’s still working through the energy she regularly musters for her turn managing the dabo wheel.

Rom thinks he should be the first to break the silence that settles in his quarters after the soft hiss of the door closing; he’s the one who has called them here after all. But, when he opens his mouth to speak, he can think of nothing at all to say. They seem to understand anyway. Somehow it doesn’t surprise him, though he can’t tell when he started to expect it. Still, this time, he feels like he has to speak first. This is important.

“I like you both,” he says at last, “I think it may be more.”

He wants to ask, do you feel the same? Is this what you’ve been waiting for? He wants to add, please, don’t say it’s a lie or that I’ve misunderstood, not now. I don’t think I can take that.

“We want to be with you,” Leeta says instead, earnest and open, and he can hear the sincerity of her words.

“But only if _you_ want that,” Julian stresses gently, looking as uncertain as he feels and this…

They really were waiting for his answer. Blessed Exchequer, they have been waiting for his answer for several weeks at least, and it suddenly dawns on him, like the spark of electricity that restores power to a freshly-repaired replicator: his answer _matters_. In fact, in this moment and for these people, it seems like his answer is _the only one_ that matters.

Suddenly the lump in his throat disappears like it was never there and his heart seems to have taken its place, because he can hear his heartbeat with a clarity that he hasn’t heard since the first time he held Nog in his arms with Prinadora’s hand resting on his arm.

“I want…” He wants to talk and be heard; he wants to be seen, not be seen through. He wants this feeling to stay. “I want to try.”

Leeta squeals in happiness and throws her arms around his neck, her earring a cool touch of metal against his cheek. Julian laughs and squeezes his hand, resting his forehead on Rom’s shoulder as he presses close to him. Rom is caught in the middle of their enthusiasm, nearly overwhelmed again by the volume of their voices and the unfamiliar number of limbs around him. There is still a tiny part of him that’s clamoring to run away but, in this moment…

In this moment, he is simply happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for the kind reviews (and kudos)!


End file.
